


Cobwebs and skeletons

by MelonEthylene



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Gender Dysphoria, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Past Abuse, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4499718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelonEthylene/pseuds/MelonEthylene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A complete 100% vent fic that in all honesty I feel very weird about sharing. It's just...very personal. But I like the writing and feel like maybe some people might relate? Idk.</p><p>Trott spills (some of) the beans to Ross about his past. The selkie culture is not friendly to those who are different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cobwebs and skeletons

The moon hung heavy from a spiderweb of stars. The clouds, grey-blue and heavy as over fed sheep, were few to skitter across the sky, leaving wide gaps for the silver light to watch the world below. It covered everything like a blanket, softening the edges of the city. Alone together, in a small room, in a spacious bed, a selkie and a gargoyle lay tangled, blankets draped carelessly or shoved haphazardly over and around them. The moonlight shone through a small window, tucked in the upper half of the white washed wall, to lay a square of silver light on the backs of the two gently breathing bodies. Through slats in a bigger window, this one even with the bed, more starlight filtered through, casting the room blue-silver and leaving bright slashes on the opposing wall.

They lay on the right side of the bed, neither asleep nor awake, but in a contented middle place, sharing each other’s warmth and gentle touches. Trott was propped up against a mound of pillows of varying shape, color, and origin, though all were dulled and dark in the light of the room. He wove his hand through Ross’ spiky, dark hair, letting his thumb rub the gargoyle’s scalp soothingly and occasionally running it over the ridges of Ross’ short, glassy horns. The weight of Ross’ head on his chest, ear resting over the selkie’s heart, was comforting, grounding. Trott wondered if the gargoyle was listening to his heartbeat. The thought felt strangely intimate.

Ross moved his hand to lightly touch the brunette's chest and, despite himself, Trott felt his pulse quicken. It would be arousing if he wasn’t so…so scared. Smith had seen the scars many times, but he’d never asked, leaving it to Trott to share if he wished. But Ross…this was the first time they’d been fully naked together, and while Trott had already resigned and braced himself for Ross’ reaction, he couldn’t help the spike of apprehension that coursed through him. His throat clogged almost impeccably, as if his body was already readying for a let down. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

But he carefully contained his emotions, even when he felt the strong urge to shudder as Ross’ finger alighted on the pale edge of a scar. Ross gently followed it’s path, tracing one than the other of the twin curving scars on Trott’s chest. They weren’t the only ones there. Claw and knife marks spiderwebbed Trott’s skin, even a bullet hole or two. But these two, despite their faded paleness, were the most noticeable as they glinted silver in the moonlight. Ross looked up at Trott, eyes glinting soft and wide.

“How did you get these?” He asked softly. Trott looked down at him, unwilling and unable to hide the affection for the gargoyle he knew Ross could see even in the half light. Shit, he was so scared. He wouldn’t show it though. He was the leader of the group. He was the strong, unwavering one; he had to be confident, even when he didn’t feel it.

He regarded Ross, trying to judge the other's expression. Both his face and tone were innocent. There was no hint of mockery or awkwardness. It was just another question to him. And yes, Trott realized, of course it would be. Ross was a man-made creature of old, old times. He’d lived his recent life in an abandoned church. He would never have experienced or learned about this.

“‘Skind of a long story” Trott laughed, ignoring the way his shoulders tensed. Ignoring the strong urge to let the whole story spill out of him coupled with an equally strong urge to force Ross to drop the whole subject. The push-pull of the desires was so strong it made his stomach queasy. But he showed none of it, smiling easily as he talked.

“I’ve got all night mate,” Ross smiled back and winked. But he reached down to hold hands with Trott, giving him a gentle squeeze of reassurance. So maybe Trott wasn’t as good at hiding his apprehension as he thought. Trott laughed softly and took a deep breath, trying and failing to keep it from shaking. He felt Ross’ tail, cool against the warmth of his leg, wrap tight around his shin.

“Fuck it” he decided matter-of-factly. “Why not.” He drew in another shaky breath before he started.

“Selkie culture is like archaic human ones. It’s strict, and hierarchical. There isn’t much…tolerance. You either fit into the slot you were born to, or you die trying.” Trott stumbled slightly on the word “die” and shifted uncomfortably, skin prickling with an itch he’d long since stopped scratching. But that was a whole other story he really didn’t want to get into. Ross pressed tighter to him, humming softly deep in his chest. The vibration it gave against Trott’s side helped steady him. He wasn’t in that place anymore. He wouldn’t get lost in the past.

“That…That went double for gender roles. If you were female you’d look after the pups, y’know, hunt for them and protect them. The males would do their whole dominance thing…One mate for life, an end goal of kids, and everything else needed for your standard repressed, fucked society. Bonus: my mother was a leader, and a bitch to boot. She kicked people out of the entire clan for so much as _daring_ to talk to ‘lesser creatures’, in other words, anyone not a fucking selkie,” He laughed, but it was an empty and bitter sound. He knew it would hurt Ross to hear it but he could barely feel the gargoyle’s body heat next to him anymore. He was back to the water, to the ocean, and he was cold, cold, cold.

“It was…It was fucking painful. The expectations and pressure felt different to me. Everyone else was okay. At least, as far as I could tell no one else felt like ripping their goddamn throats out every time they were ordered to their duties. The worst part…the worst _fucking_ part, was the name they called me. It was…was so fucking stupid, just a couple of bloody syllables but…I just…I…fuck…” He couldn’t quite bring himself to describe the feeling of utter revolution that would shove at his insides, or the heavy lump of lead that his heart had become. The desperate urge he’d had, the _itch_ , to scratch his skin off, rip the poisonous lump out of his chest. The need to do something, _anything_ , no matter how self-destructive.

He became aware of a gentle rustling warmth on his hand. Slowly, he realized he’d clenched his hands into sharp fists, immaculate nails digging into his palm. Ross was brushing his thumb over the balled digits of his left hand, not trying to pry them open, just giving what affection he could. With a deep breath, Trott uncurled his fingers, feeling a slightly sticky slide as they pulled out of several layers of skin. Only the middle finger of his right hand had drawn blood, a faint sliver welling up, not quite enough to spill over the fingernail marking and down his palm. Still, it was a dangerous step close to some…other, more destructive habits.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Ross for several long moments. When he finally did, his breath caught. The gargoyle’s face was filled with a desperately sad understanding. It always surprised him to realize that he wasn’t the only one who’d suffered from the restless, destructive frustration of needing to escape one’s own skin. He kept being reminded of the fact but somehow always defaulted to assuming that everyone was actually okay. Or more okay than him. But Ross…he’d spent centuries alone, feeling abandoned. It must have been agonizing.

“What name, mate?” Ross asked, ever so softly. He asked so quietly, Trott wasn’t sure what he’d said for a moment, or if he’d said anything at all.

Trott’s first attempt to answer the question came out mangled and hoarse. He cleared his throat. At this point, he’d already backed himself into a corner. If he wanted to get out of this without Ross finding out what it was he was alluding to, Trott would have to lie completely. As much as he used half-truths and white lies to perfection, the selkie didn’t quite have it in him to outright lie about something so important. Besides, deep down, he wanted to tell Ross, or anyone really, the whole story. So, in the end, he didn't really have any choice but to keep talking. Keep being honest.

“Charlotte,” he finally said, voice breaking in the middle, “they always called me fucking Charlotte. Charlotte do this, Charlotte do that. When are you gonna find yourself a FUCKING man, Charlotte” He was breathing heavily now, words coming out in a torrential waterfall, and it was all he could do to keep the tears building up in his eyes from overflowing. “It was always about shacking up with some nice, selkie boy. It’s always about sex and marriage isn’t it? All those angsty teenage stories? She’d always say…She’d always be so fucking insistent about it. C’mon. C’mon Charlotte she'd say. Get yourself a nice partner, get yourself some fucking kids. No one will ever…will ever love you if you don’t act more like a fucking lade. A prim and proper laady.” At these last words, Ross snorted a bit in laughter and Trott felt like he’d been slapped. His heart sank. This was it. This was how it always went. He should’ve known. He should’ve _fucking_ known.

He sat, stunned, for just one, horrifying moment, before he realized why Ross had actually laughed. Without meaning to, Trott had slipped into his Rebecca voice. Whether he’d done it as a defense mechanism or because he was honestly trying to do a girl voice and just didn’t have it in him, Trott had no idea. Ross looked up at him, oblivious to the turmoil Trott had just felt, mock horror on his face.

“Rebecca?” He gasped, voice high-pitched “What are you doing here?” Ross darted his eyes around shiftily, “Trott will kill us if he finds out about our…affair.” Trott laughed at that, and the simple act of joy brought him almost as close to tears as the confession a moment before had. He bit his lip briefly to help regain control.

“Well dearie!” He exclaimed in the Rebbecca voice, trying to ignore how moist his eyes were and how he was _sure_ Ross could see. He forced himself to look square at Ross and waggle his eyebrows suggestively, “I’m here to make you feel good Rooss. And I brought you some loovely cupcakes.”

“Oh god!” Ross responded, absolute terror written on his face, “Not the cupcakes! Noooo.” Then unable to to contain it anymore, he burst out laughing. Trott couldn’t help but join in, briefly nuzzling into the gargoyle’s hair as he chuckled, unable to hold back the affection that flooded through him for the precious, precious being lying next to him. The lay for a while in silence after their laughter died down. Ross’ head was back on Trott’s chest, his tail, now the same warmth of the rest of the bed, was still curled around the selkie’s leg. Their hands were still intertwined.

“I’m so sorry” Ross finally broke the silence.

“Thanks sunshine.” Trott smiled at the top of Ross’ head. His expression was pained, and he still felt chilled, but his chest, his heart…it was warm…and lighter. It’s weight didn’t feel quite so unbearable.

“What…”Ross swallowed, “What did you do? If it’s ok to ask”

“Yeah…yeah. Can’t really stop there, can I mate?” Trott smiled again. “I started sneaking out to be with humans mostly. It was just once in a while at first but it grew more frequent. I would…I would glamour myself as a guy. My appearance, my voice, everything…I went by Charles for a bit. Can you believe it mate, Charles,” Trott snorted. “I stopped and switched to Chris when I kept getting the weird urge to go bald and mind control people.” Ross laughed at that and Trott smiled in triumph.

“I would do all that…” he continued, “and would just…walk around, strike up conversations, go to clubs, whatever. Anything I could do to feel…feel…Anyway, it got to the point the old bitch couldn’t turn a blind eye anymore. Of course, she had no idea exactly what I was doing ‘gallivanting’, as she put it, with the mortals. When she found out…ha! She was fucking _livid_.” Trott laughed, but mostly to disguise the trembling that had returned. He swallowed before deciding, as he had over a hundred times in this conversation, fuck it. He shoved at Ross.

“That was when I got - oof, shove off you big prick - that’s when I got these.” He twisted to show Ross his back and knew the gargoyle had figured out what he was talking about when he heard a strangled gasp of horror and anger. Five long scars crisscrossing over his back. Ross had probably figured they were just more battlescars. He probably would never have guessed they were from Trott’s...

“Figures right?” Trott said, trying, really trying, to hide the bitterness in his voice and knowing he failed utterly. “As I said, selkie culture is pretty archaic. This is what got me to finally abandon those fuckers and run away.” He laughed hollowly and turned to look at Ross.

Before he knew it his head was buried against the gargoyle’s smooth chest, arms wrapped around him and chin pressing on the crown of his head protectively. They stayed like that for several long moments. Trott could feel Ross breathing. He could feel how the breaths shook. In rage? Sadness? Both? Trott couldn’t be sure. He let himself get lost in it. In the breathing, the heartbeat, the protectiveness. For once, he didn’t try to do anything back, not wrap his arms around Ross or kiss him or say anything. He just let himself go limp, enjoying the feeling of being protected. Enjoying the feeling of being…safe, as he so very rarely did.

Eventually, Ross pulled back and Trott was shocked to see tear streaks down the gargoyle’s face. Trott hadn’t even cried and yet here Ross was…He felt an irrational pang of guilt shake through him. But he let it flow off him as he leaned forward to gently brush his lips against Ross’. He’d long since learned to deal with those pangs on his own, he’d had little choice if he’d wanted to survive. Having someone there to support him just made it that much easier to carry that burden.

Trott pulled back from the kiss and rested his forehead against Ross’ for a moment, their breaths intermingling. He smiled contentedly. Then his face twisted.

“Eugh mate, your breath’s awful.” Trott reeled back, making a show of wafting his hand in front of his nose, “Did you even brush?”

“Shut up you prick! GFY!” Ross shoved him and tackled him down to the mattress, “It’s probably those cupcakes Rebecca gave me earlier.”

“And you actually ate them?” Trott exclaimed in mock incredulity, settling himself against Ross’ chest in a near mirror to how the gargoyle had been lying against him earlier. “Aw mate, I can’t believe I even kissed you just now”

“Face it,” Ross laughed, “You’ve done far worse.”

“Very true” Trott snorted. “Can’t deny thaat” The last of his words got caught up in a yawn as exhaustion began creeping back into his bones. The silver light seemed to settle back into the room, lulling him further into drowsiness. He felt Ross sigh happily beneath him and knew he must be feeling the same drowsiness. There was still lots to talk about. There was still a whole shitload of things to cry, and laugh, about. And that was just Trott's history. He was sure Ross had plenty of his own skeletons. But for now, resting in the large bed, in the small room, they were both happy to drift back to in between wakefulness and sleep.

He stared up at Ross’ face and was hit by how goddamn lucky he was. He traced the contours of the gargoyle's face, his eyes, his lashes, his nose, his mouth. He couldn’t quite believe it. How far he’d come. How much he had. How much he was filled with love. For Ross, for Smith, even for…himself. It almost made it all seem worth it.

Really, it just made it worth it that he had stuck it out. That he had kept living just to see where life would carry him. He could still remember how he’d felt that day, how helpless and desperate and revolting he’d felt. He could feel the tingles along the scars on his back. On that day, he wouldn’t have imagined in his wildest, brightest dreams that he could end up where he had. As happy as he had. Trott slowly closed his eyes, soaking in one last look of Ross before he allowed himself to drift into sleep, into darkness. All those years ago, he couldn’t even bring himself to dream of such a bright future. Now, he didn’t need to.

**Author's Note:**

> ((i'd just like to clarify that most of this is a made up backstory for trott and it's the feelings of dysphoria etc.. that i was venting about not actual events. aaa i just don't want any misunderstanding sorry))


End file.
